


does he give you what you need?

by ifanyonehurtyou



Category: Ocean's (Movies)
Genre: Begging, Dom/sub, F/F, Hair-pulling, Infidelity, Kneeling, Oral Sex, Orders, Orgasm Control, Past Relationship(s), Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 15:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifanyonehurtyou/pseuds/ifanyonehurtyou
Summary: Tammy has spent the last six years pretending that she doesn't have a very specific set of needs. And then Debbie Ocean reappears in her life.





	does he give you what you need?

**Author's Note:**

> i blame ao3 user [atlantisairlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock) for all of the o8 sinning that has consumed my mind for the last week. go check out [ocean's gay-t](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966327?view_full_work=true), it's very inspirational
> 
> un-beta'd, so please let me know if you see any typos or glaring continuity errors! other than that, kudos, comments, and compliments are always so appreciated.

Tammy tells herself this is a one-time thing.

As she's packing, as she drives her minivan into the city, as she spends half a goddamn hour looking for parking.

Just one more heist. That's what you do when you become a mom, right? You go wild one more time, get it out of your system, and then go back and live a perfect suburban life for the rest of your life.

Yes. That's how this works. She's just going to do this one more time. For the thrill of stealing one very fancy necklace.

She'd have said yes no matter what, right? If Lou had asked her?

Of course she would have.

It's a very nice necklace.

 

As they're planning and executing the heist, Tammy watches.

Debbie has been planning this for over five years, and it shows. It shows in how meticulous she's been, and it shows in where she slips up.

Other than Lou, Tammy's probably the only one who sees those slip-ups. And where Lou goes to confront Debbie, heated and stormy, Tammy hangs back, goes over seating charts, watches Debbie slink back in, tired and quiet.

In another time, Tammy would have gone after Debbie, but those days are over now. She doesn't want that anymore. Even if she did, there's no way Debbie hasn't moved on.

 

It's over before they all know it. That's the way these things always go. The actual gala feels like it's seconds long, and soon they're all loaded beyond belief and figuring out what to do next.

Tammy looks around. She's on the couch, sprawled next to Nine Ball, who's typing furiously as usual. The others are dotted around the house, making their own familiar noises: the soft bump of the bass from Constance's room, Amita showering for over an hour, the not-so-subtle creaks and gasps and occasional muffled moan from Rose and Daphne.

It feels like home.

But she already has a home.

She doesn't notice that Nine Ball has stopped typing, and jerks slightly when the other woman asks, as if she knows what Tammy's thinking about, "What's your husband like?"

Debbie walks in, flops into an armchair. "God, Nine Ball, it's ten a.m. Can we talk about something that won't make me fall back asleep?"

Ordinarily, Tammy might snark or throw a cushion in Debbie's direction. But instead she's quiet, thoughtful.

The silence lasts a little too long and Nine Ball says, "Never mind."

 

That night, Tammy's trying to fall asleep when Debbie walks into her room.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?" she says irritably.

"Nope," Debbie responds, and sits down on the side of Tammy's bed.

Tammy rolls onto her side to face Debbie, scooting a little further away as she does so. Debbie smells like she always has - like an amalgam of stolen soaps and lotions and perfumes and herself - and being too close to that is dangerous.

Being too close to that in bed is particularly dangerous.

"You didn't want to talk to Nine Ball about your husband," Debbie says softly.

Tammy studiously looks at Debbie's shoulder. "What's there to tell," she says. "Nine Ball has access to every address he's ever lived at and probably knows his entire genealogy by now too."

Debbie ignores her response.

"You don't want to talk about him at all, do you," she says. "You know, I'm curious, too. What is he like, Tam? Your husband?"

Tammy doesn't respond.

"Does he give you what you want?" Debbie presses.

Tammy scoots back toward the wall a little more.

But Debbie doesn't stop.

"Does he give you what you need?"

Tammy squeezes her eyes shut.

This isn't supposed to be happening. She's not supposed to be feeling this ache in her throat and her chest and, god, in her cunt. She's not supposed to want this anymore. She has a husband and kids and a house and a garage and a fucking minivan - of course he doesn't give her what she needs, but she she's not supposed to need that anymore. She put it behind her with her criminal past. (Which is also behind her. Obviously.)

As she's battling herself, she feels Debbie's weight slide off the bed. Tammy opens her eyes with a mix of relief and anguish, thinking Debbie's about to give up and leave.

She should have known better. Debbie, give up?

No. She's not walking away.

She's kneeling on the floor. Back straight, hands on her knees. She catches Tammy's eye, looks imploringly into her eyes - and then looks down.

It's too much for Tammy, seeing Debbie like this - Debbie Ocean, the woman who just orchestrated a multi-million-dollar jewel heist, at her feet, the picture of submission - so she rakes her fingers across Debbie's scalp and grabs, tugging Debbie's head back, baring her throat.

"God, Deb," she breathes, nearly choking on the words and sheer want.

Debbie's just looking at her, silent but so, so clearly desperate. It's been so long, but this feels so familiar, so right.

She lets go of Debbie's hair, watches Debbie lower her head back to its original position and Tammy suppresses a shudder as she quickly pulls off her own sweatpants and underwear, then re-situates herself on the edge of the bed, one leg on either side of Debbie.

"Hands behind your back," Tammy orders. And Debbie obeys, sending a powerful thrill through Tammy's entire body.

She scoots forward a little more, replaces her left hand in Debbie's hair, and says, her voice rough with emotion and command, "It's been a while, sweet girl, but I'm sure you still know what to do."

Debbie looks up at her with a wanton whimper and then dives in, swirling her tongue around Tammy's clit as if in acknowledgment before licking in broad strokes from bottom to top.

Tammy had forgotten - had tried very hard to forget - how good this feels. The sheer trip of watching Debbie's hands bound behind her back by nothing more than Tammy's word, of having this brilliant and beautiful mastermind at her feet - it's intoxicating, and that's exactly why Tammy has spent the last six years studiously trying to shove those thoughts into a corner of her mind.

But now they're flying back out as Debbie licks her, hands locked behind her back - she's so good, and Tammy tells her so, and Debbie responds by licking even more fervently at Tammy's clit, and Tammy pulls Debbie's head in, grinds on her face, lets out a long, drawn-out moan.

"Come on, Debbie," she gasps out, "make me come, you're so good, such a good girl, fuck -" and she comes with a cry, clenching her thighs around Debbie's head and her fists in the sheets.

She can't handle - she needs - she tugs Debbie's arm and pulls her up so she's straddling Tammy, pulls Debbie's shorts aside and fucks into her with two fingers and then three. "That's good, ride my fingers, you love the way I feel inside you," she hisses against Debbie's ear.

She fucks Debbie hard, studiously avoiding her clit, knowing she can't come just from penetration. She needs to make Debbie cry before the night is over, is overcome with the deisre to break Debbie the way she knows Debbie needs to be broken, the way only Tammy knows how.

Before long, Debbie's clutching at Tammy's shoulders, eyes wild, entire body bouncing as she fucks herself on Tammy's fingers. "Please, Tammy, please, please, please," she groans, fingers twisting in Tammy's sweater as she resists the urge to bring herself off.

Tammy's in her element, all traces of doubt gone. She smirks and murmurs calmly, "Please, what, Debbie? What do you need?"

Debbie jerks her hips even more wildly and keens, "You know! Please, please, please let me, you know what I need, please -"

"I need you to ask for it, Deb," Tammy says, a little breathless but her tone still mostly even.

Debbie squeezes her eyes shut, clearly steeling herself for what she's about to say. "Please, will you - from behind? And - please - can I touch myself? Please?"

Tammy stops, grinning wide, and pushes Debbie off her lap. "Get to it, then," she says, and stifles a laugh as Debbie unnecessarily tangles herself in her shorts in a bid to get out of them faster.

Before much longer, Debbie's on her elbows and knees, looking hopefully over her shoulder at Tammy, who resumes fucking Debbie with a vengeance. Debbie nearly howls at the sensation, and again when Tammy says, "Okay, yeah, you can touch yourself." Debbie slips her fingers over her clit, and that's when the tears start.

"Please," she splutters, "please, please, please, please, please, Tammy, please, please, I need it, I need you, please, I need you to, please," and as she continues her litany, Tammy slips a fourth finger in, grabs a handful of Debbie's hair in the other hand, and says, "Come."

Tammy only needs to pump her fingers in one, two, three more times and then Debbie collapses onto the bed screaming, entire body clenching around Tammy's hand and her own. She stays like that for a few long moments before she sucks in a breath and lets it out in a shaky sob.

Tammy gently removes the hand that was fisted in Debbie's hair, uses it to gently pet Debbie's head instead. "You want me out, sweetie?" she asks, gently wiggling the fingers of her other hand.

Debbie nods into the mattress. As soon as Tammy's hand is free, Debbie curls in on herself, continuing to cry quietly into the sheets.

Tammy silently curls herself around her, strokes her hair, pulls a blanket over the both of them, and lets Debbie cry herself out.

Eventually, Debbie rolls over, burrows into the crook over Tammy's shoulder.

"Hey there," Tammy says fondly.

"Hi," says Debbie, voice a little watery. "Thank you."

"No," Tammy responds, closing her eyes and sinking her face into Debbie's hair. "Thank you." She's aware, on some level, that she has spent a very long time trying to avoid this exact situation, and she can't for the life of her imagine why.


End file.
